


The Colette Confession

by nanianela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanianela/pseuds/nanianela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How I wish that season 10 would end. I have no idea how this idea came to me, but I hope you like it! (Oneshot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colette Confession

Cain's footfalls were heavy and slow, some of them splashing in puddles of blood along the way. He finally approached Dean's corpse amongst the dozen or so other slaughtered bodies, Dean was facedown with the first blade just a few inches from his limp hand, shining with red. Cain could only see part of his blood-speckled face as the other half was pressed against the ground, but his eyelids were half-open as his glassy gaze stared right through everything. 

With what almost sounded like a disapproving grunt, Cain nudged the first blade with the toe of his shoe so that the hilt was once again under the limply curled fingers of Dean's cold hand. Cain watched with weary eyes, shoved his hands into his pocket, and waited. 

Dean sucked in a gasp like a drowning man coming up for air and his hand automatically snatched around the hilt with a powerful grip, his whole body going through a large jerk as the Mark not-so-gracefully brought him back once again. A feral snarl was rumbling in the back of his throat, he gritted his teeth in a painful grimace and his arm holding the blade twitched violently. A shoe pressed against the side of his head, covering his ear. 

"Don't move," Cain's voice was calm yet weary, as if he were an overworked mother trying to get a hold on her unruly child. "Take a few breaths, maybe. Sometimes that would help me when this _thing_ brings me back." 

Dean began to writhe, the snarl breaking out from between his bared teeth, and Cain only increased the pressure of his foot pining down his head. "It'd be a shame to smash your head in, son. This whole conversation would just have to start all over again the next time it brings you back, and neither of us want that, do we?" 

Dean stopped struggling, and amazingly enough, sucked in a few breaths that he exhaled shakily. 

"Good." Cain replied curtly. "Can I let you stand up now, so we can talk like civilized adults?" Dean somehow managed to give the slightest of nods from under the pressure of his shoe. 

"Excellent." Cain replied in that exhausted way of his once again, finally placing his foot on the ground. 

Dean was shaking as he used a beam as support to try stand up, his legs visibly trembling as his knuckles went white from his grip on the beam. His eyes were still a polished black like piano keys. He was still breathing like Cain had instructed him, each breath a rusty rasp. 

"You've broken a promise to me, Dean." Cain began. "You told me you would take that Blade to my heart and kill me when you were still coherent." 

Dean spit a bit of blood out of his mouth. "I...I am coherent!" He sputtered defensively. 

"Pathetic." Cain shook his head, training his eyes on the floor. "Then what do you call this bloodbath, exactly?" 

"It's repayment!" Dean replied. "These people, these men, they _murdered_ my-" He panted, needing to rest with his hands on his knees for a second. 

"This was a mistake." Cain's dark tone sent a shiver down even the demon's spine, and he met Dean's eyes. "I should have never given you this Mark so that you could kill Abaddon." He shook his head somberly. "I should have done it myself. And now, these messes you've made are just as much of my mistake as yours." 

Dean blinked at him, his eyes suddenly clear once again. His jade green eyes began to fill with tears as he met Cain's eyes once again. 

"Cain, please. I know I didn't keep my promise to you. But I need- I _need_ this thing gone. I need it out. I don't want to live like this anymore." Dean collapsed to his knees, his head bowed in shame. He pressed his trembling hands to the bloody concrete. "I can't let this become me." 

"Now you know exactly how I feel." Cain replied, remorseless. "Now you fully understand why I made my request. And now, for you to ask the same of me after you've denied me-" 

"Cain." Dean croaked. "Please. All I wanted this Mark for was to kill Abaddon once and for all. Point blank, one and done. I...never asked for this. Any of this. I already did my job, held up my end of the deal. Please." 

"You're right, you _didn't_ ask. " Cain scoffed. "You had no idea of the implications when you agreed to this. Always so rash in your ways. Just like Abel. And now look where your reckless decisions have got you." 

Dean felt the tears well up in his eyes, as he stared at Cain's shoes, unable to bring his head up from his bow. "Cain," He began, his voice a painful rasp. "I did it. Abaddon is dead, forever. I avenged your Colette." He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of rare emotion wash over his twisted, blackened insides. "Let me have mine." 

When Dean looked up from where he was on his knees, Cain looked taken aback. Dean was surprised himself- this was the first time during this encounter that he'd seemed moved emotionally at all. Cain quickly composed himself, but not before Dean had seen it- that look of realization in his eyes. Pity, and epiphany. 

"I see." Cain's low voice rumbled, but something about it was less cold this time. He pinched his chin in thought, pulling down and tugging on the ends of his grey beard, his blue eyes searching back and forth. "I see now." 

"Stand up, Dean. No need to kneel before me like a pathetic beggar." Cain demanded of him, and Dean struggled to stand. Cain had his arm outstretched without explanation, a determined look glinting in his eyes. 

"I've tried this kind of retraction it only once before. The host of the Mark was killed within minutes." He explained. "Either by some slim chance you survive the retraction, or you die a slow and painful death as I reach inside you and cleave the demonic substance from your body. Or I run you through, nice and easy. I'd like to give you a choice now, Dean." 

"Only one other guy who tried this kicked the bucket, huh? I flunked statistics, but those aren't very good odds, are they?" Dean tried to joke. Cain appeared unamused. 

"I want it gone." Dean cleared his throat and began. "Anything it takes, if you have to...cleave this out of my body, whatever you've gotta do to get this out of me, I'll do it." He clamped his arm onto Cain's, gripping on just below his elbow. 

"Once again, so rash." Cain began. "You don't wonder what will happen to the substance once I remove it from your body? I can't destroy it even then, but it will no longer be a part of you. The demonic matter could even become a separate entity." 

"If it does, then I'll find some way to deal with it later." Dean grunted. "You have my word." 

"You're so very much like my brother in some ways, Dean." Cain sighed. "But you did avenge my dearest Colette. And I do have to agree that what you did is a debt that I must repay." He gripped tightly onto Dean's forearm right back. Dean finally saw a bit of understanding in Cain's watery blue eyes. "This may sting a little." 

It began with what felt like someone pressing a cigarette to Dean's inner arm, right above the mark. The hypothetical cigarette turned into a white-hot poker, and Dean finally let out an anguished scream as the pain plunged through and exploded- carving its way through his body like acid. He could feel the pain burrowing through every vein, spreading in spastic directions like he was feeling ants tunneling their intricate underground matrixes in fast motion. Except the tunnels were in his flesh and the ants felt like they were made of molten lava. 

Dean had fallen to his knees, and Cain held steadfast to his arm. Dean keeled over and dark garnet blood forced its way up his throat and sprayed onto the concrete. Cain watched the glowing red pulsating from deep under his skin, branching out from his arm to tunnel their way through his ribs and reach down into his soul. Dean's nails dug into his arm, puncturing the skin into little flat crescents. "Dean, you altruistic fool." Cain mumbled through gritted teeth, watching as Dean's body was burrowed into deeply by thousands of branches of pulsating red-

* * *

His head swam, his vision kept splintering into double visions and coming back together again, the walls were spinning around him. He was flat on his back, his wrecked arm just barely in his line of vision, the flesh looking more like an indistinguishable bloody pulp than something that resembled a limb. He swore he could see the shape of his bones beneath the gore, and even the white color poked through in a few places.

Cain held something equally bloody and disgusting in his hands, something that was pulsating with a reddish-orange kind of light, its shape like a dozen-limbed squid as thin apendages fell from between his fingers.

"You're free now," Cain said, and Dean for the life of him didn't know if he was talking to him or the alien-shaped _thing_ he held within his hands. His blood loss made the room too bright, black snowflakes swirled in his vision and he felt the black snow blizzard swallow him whole. 

* * *

 The second time Dean came to was much more pleasant. He peered through his eyelashes, the warm yellow glow was recognizable right away as his bedside lamp. As he struggled to open his eyes a bit more, he recognized the dark shapes of his guns mounted along the walls. He was on something soft and comfortable, the blankets tucked in tight. He noticed someone was sitting in a chair pulled up to his bedside, watching him. He moaned softly and closed his eyes again, his head rolling back once again on his pillows. His body ached like never before, like it was soul-deep. Hell, it probably literally _was_ soul deep. 

"Relax." He heard Cas's distinct rumble. "Everything is fine. You are safe here." 

Dean's eyes remained closed but his lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles when he felt a hand reach to cup the side of his face, a calloused thumb affectionately smudging along the slight stubble of his cheek. "You had your brother and I worried sick." 

Dean waited a second, just enjoying the feeling of Cas rubbing his thumb softly along his cheek once more. "...It's gone, Cas." He managed to croak. He wanted to reach up and hold Cas's hand to the side of his face, but the second he tried to lift his arm the angel's hand pulled away from his face and gently pressed his wrist back down against the bed. 

"I can tell. But Dean, don't move this arm. The extraction method was cursed, and I was not able to heal the wound with my grace. It must heal with time." Cas explained softly. 

Dean's lips split into a smile at that remark, even though a split in his lip from when he'd been punched in the mouth pulled and stung a bit. 

"How did you manage to convince him to help you?" Cas asked instead, leaning a bit closer to him protectively. "To take all of it away?" 

"I told it to him how it is," Dean replied. "I told him I was the one who killed Abaddon, who'd killed Colette. That I'd avenged his Colette, so it was only fair that he'd let me live to have mine." He ending it with a tiny, knowing smile, just the corner of his lips pulling upward into an easy smile at he looked at Cas.  

"I see." Cas replied softly. "Colette was his one weakness. His love for her transcends even death. I can see why he would believe he was in your debt for what you did to Abaddon." He blinked slowly, shyly meeting Dean's eyes. "Who....?" 

"God, Cas, you're thick." Dean huffed affectionately. "Who do you _think_?" 

Cas's blue eyes softened, and his cheeks flushed a shade pinker in embarrassment. Unsurely, his fingertips floated above Dean's exposed palm that peeked out from his nearly mummy-wrapped arm. 

"It's okay, Cas." Dean prompted softly, his voice barely above that of a whisper. Cas's fingers shyly slid along Dean's palm and he curled his fingers around his hand, pressing their palms to one another as Cas rubbed his thumb softly along his wrist. He squeezed his hand softly, a bit too overwhelmed to speak at the moment. Dean squeezed back, and immediately sucked in a painful gasp as his tendons shifted under his practically blenderized muscles. "Oh, that hurts like a bitch." He managed to say through gritted teeth. 

"Didn't I tell you not to move this arm, Dean?" Cas managed to chuckle, softly grazing his fingertips over the layers of wrapped gauze. He leaned even closer, pressing one of his palms to the bed on the other side of Dean as he leaned in, balancing his hip along the edge of the bed, laying down alongside Dean in the gap between his injured arm and his body. Dean rolled his head to the side to look into the angel's eyes, his eyes quickly falling to half-lid themselves as he felt a rush of nerves. He felt the two of them breathing the same air, and Cas's warm and pliable tip of his nose bumped against Dean's, and his lips had to split into yet another smile. Dean reached over with his good arm and cradled the base of the angel's neck, pulling him closer so their foreheads rested together.

 "I don't feel a demonic substance within your soul anymore." Cas whispered into Dean's lips, his eyes downcast. "I can't explain how much I've missed that shine." 

"C'mere, you damn angel." Dean closed the gap between the two of them and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, sliding his hand a bit further up his head to push into his unruly hair. Cas let out an amused huff and pulled forward again, puckering and pulling away just seconds later, his lips had fallen open just slightly as he rested his nose on Dean's. Both of them huffed softly for just a split second, hearts hammering hard. Cas's eyes had fallen completely closed, Dean peered under his lashes as he felt his heart hammering away. They'd both wanted, for so long- 

"Dammit, Cas, kiss me like you mean i-!" Dean playfully joked, and was cut off as Cas smushed his lips over his, pressing desperately for closeness, as he moved to crouch over him with his knees on either side of his ribcage and smothered him with kiss after kiss, Dean laughing ecstatically when he could get a breath in. 

* * *

 Cain was chopping carrots when it finally happened. He heard the single cry pierce the air, and he dropped the knife immediately, scampering into the back room. The high pitched wails continued. Inside a large copper bowl with symbols all along the cusp, lay a tiny, wailing infant amongst some leftover gore floating inside the bowl. The baby had something that resembled a backwards seven branded on the middle of his chest.

"Oh! Why, hello there." Cain cooed, taking the fluffy white towel he'd had folded and ready and lifted the whimpering baby out of the bloody, fleshy soup within the bowl, rubbing his limbs gently with the towel to try and clean him up. The baby let out a few more tiny whimpers, his chubby hand clutching to Cain's shirt as he rested his heavy head onto Cain's chest.

"Hello, darling." Cain slipped his finger within the baby's searching hand, and the baby curled his chubby fingers right over it. Cain smiled as he bobbed slightly up and down, and the fearful whimpers turned into more of soft, contented coos. The baby's eyes were a clear, matte blue, just like Dean's had been as a newborn. In fact, the baby Cain held in his arms was an exact replica of the baby in the pictures of Mary holding Dean for the first time in the hospitals. It made sense- not like there was any other DNA for him to build from. 

"Maybe if I teach you to control yourself from the beginning," Cain whispered, pressing a kiss to the baby's round, bald head and began to walk up the steps to the bathroom. "Maybe then, we can see this Mark become a blessing, not a curse. And maybe you can be the one who sets your old man free, now, what do you say, little fella?" 

Cain washed all the remaining blood from his soft baby skin in one of the sinks upstairs and dried him off with a different, clean towel. He looked so innocent- the only thing that indicated his real substance was that mark on his chest. Cain felt like he knew this plan, finally, was going to work. He felt the tiny thing nod off in his arms, his chubby cheek laying heavy in the crook of his neck as a spot of warm drool soaked into the cotton of his collar. And for the first time in a long time, Cain was happy. 

The original Dean was asleep too, somewhere much farther away, an arm possessively holding him as it lay stretched across his stomach, legs tangled around one of his, and a familiar ear pressed up against his human, beating heart.  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
